


Signs Point to Yes

by Fundead (DragonThistle)



Series: The 8-Ball Series [2]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: M/M, Oviposition, someone's got to look out for this pack of idiots...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonThistle/pseuds/Fundead
Summary: In which Noodle doesn’t get it, 2D gets it too well, Murdoc misses the point completely, and Russel has a cow.





	

Murdoc can already feel the bruises forming on his throat from Russel’s impromptu strangling session.

When 2D had limped into the kitchen that morning—well after everyone else had been up—in only his underwear with his swollen belly poking out from under his t-shirt, Russel had seen red. There had been a lot of shouting and kicking and Russel’s large hands threatening to take Murdoc’s head off like a dandelion. The only thing that had saved Murdoc’s life was 2D throwing up in the hall.

“Are you sure he’s gonna be fine?” The drummer asks, eyeing the way 2D is sprawled on the couch with a fair amount of concern.

“I told ya’ it’s nothin’!” Murdoc rasps, massaging his neck with a scowl, puffing out a cloud of acrid smoke from the cigarette clenched between his teeth, “Jus’ fuckin’ leave it, they’ll come out in their own time. Nothin’ ta’ worry ‘bout.”

“How the hell’d this even happen?” Russel turns his frown on Murdoc but there’s no concern in it. Maybe disgust but definitely not concern.

“Comes with the territory, Rus,” The bassist grunts and stretches until his neck pops, “See, the closer yer soul gets ta’ Hell, the little less human you become. Make sense, fatass?”

“You sayin’ you’re a demon?” There’s an edge to Russel’s voice that might be fear hidden under anger, “So, what, you thought you’d go ‘in hurt 2D? Just—just plant your seed in ‘im? He’s your _friend_ , man, what the fuck were you thinkin’!?”

Murdoc’s mismatched eyes narrow into dangerous slits and a low growl rumbles in his throat, “What part of ‘I din’ know it was gonna happen’ goes over your thick head, Russel?” He’s not shouting but it might have been easier to handle if he had because his voice is cold and sharp and deadly, “I didn’t do it on purpose—bloody well would’na done it to _him_ even if I did know! We don’ need you buttin’ yer dumbass into our business so back. The fuck. Off.”

Russel opens his mouth to retaliate but a horrible retching sound cuts him off. 2D is heaving into the bucket they’d left by him after the accident in the hall. He’s bent almost double over it, the ridges of his spine poking through his shirt as he gasps and coughs and spits up his breakfast. Russel moves to help…but Murdoc is already there.

“Easy, luv, there ya’ go, get it all out,” The bassist is crouched beside 2D, patting him on the back with a sort of bemused grin, “Guess sugary cereal’s outta the question. I tried tellin’ ya’, kid, bacon’s a real breakfast.”

“Din’ wan’ the bacon…” 2D mumbles miserably, looking up with spittle dribbling down his chin.

Murdoc pulls back slightly, “Fer fucks sake, wipe yer mouth you sod. Ya’ want some water?”

“Yeah, Muds, sorry. Please.” 2D spits into the bucket again and wipes his mouth on the stained napkin nearby. Murdoc snorts as he hauls himself up on creaking knees and stalks out of the room, heading for the kitchen. As he passes Russel, he gives him a deadly glare.

One that clearly says to keep away from 2D.

****

“Murdoc?”

2D glances away from the television to look at Noodle. The two of them are on the couch sharing a pint of ice cream, though 2D is taking the lion’s share. Noodle prods 2D’s stomach with her spoon, looking up at him quizzically as she repeats her question,

“Murdoc?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” The singer gives the girl an awkward smile that shows the gap in his teeth, a rather enduring sight with the smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, “’S Mud’s doin’ He says he din’ mean it tho. Says they’re duds anyway.”

“Duds?” Noodle repeats curiously, “What’s duds?”

“Eggs.” It sounds weird to say it out loud and 2D quickly shoves another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“Like a bird?” The little guitarist presses and 2D has to laugh at the idea of Murdoc as a bird. Probably a vulture. An ugly, ugly vulture.

“Ah, s-sure, heh, like a bird.” He ruffles Noodles hair and she swats at him, snatching the ice cream tub from his lap and starting a game of keep-away she inevitably wins. 2D decides he’s had enough ice cream anyway and slouches against the couch cushions with a yawn. Russel will probably kill him later for letting Noodle eat so much before dinner but, eh, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.

“When you gonna lay eggs?” Noodle pokes his stomach with her spoon again and he frowns, pushing it away gently.

“Wot you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Eggs. Birds lay eggs. You gonna lay eggs.”

“Wot…oh….”

Oh.

Oh _shit_.

****

Murdoc doesn’t lock his Winnebago. There’s no need, no one else in their right satan-damned mind would go near the place, whether he’s there or not.

So he’s a bit surprised when he traipses down to the car park, already pulling his shirt over his head, and opens the door to find 2D curled up in the corner of the bed. The singer jumps when Murdoc bangs the door open and shrinks away into the smallest amount of space he can, fingers tangling together in a nervous heap. They stare at one another for a long moment. And then Murdoc slowly eases the door closed and flicks the latch. 2D flinches at the noise.

“What’re you doin’ in here, Faceache?” It’s a rough growl, not angry but maybe a little territorial.

2D pulls back even more, wedging himself further into the corner, “Ih—I didn’t—I know yous don’ like people comin’ in here, Muds, but I—Iwanted ta’ talk with you. In…in private.”

“Fine. Shoot.” Murdoc tosses his shirt to the floor and kicks his boots off. The pants quickly follow suit and he starts rooting around for a beer.

“These—these eggs, yeah, um,” 2D swallows, trying hard not to look at the shape of the bassist’s ass through his worn boxers, “D-do I…lay them? Like a bird?”

“How else ya’ think you get ‘em out?”

All the color drains out of 2D’s face and the tightly wound spring of his body suddenly loses it’s tension. He deflates on the bed, limbs unfolding, shoulders sagging, expression falling into dismay. Murdoc notices, struggles, and then rolls his eyes with a growl. He hasn’t had nearly enough to drink for this shit but he trundles over and flops onto the bed beside his disheartened singer.

“Oi, Two Dents, chin up, mate, yer bringin’ down the mood a’ me Winnie. None a’ that now or I’ll throw ya’ out.” The bassist rips the can open and takes a swig, knocking his shoulder into 2D’s with a gruff something he refuses to call affection, “Look, if yer gonna get your bitty knickers in a twist about it, I’ll lend ya’ some, ah, bombita, yeah? Take the edge off.”

“Ya’ know I don’ like tha’ stuff,” 2D mutters, looking at the rumpled sheets between his knees, “Makes me ‘migraines worse.” He twists long, soft fingers into the soft fabric and tries not to think about all the other people besides himself who Murdoc has had twisting their fingers into them too, “Ey, um, when they are, ya know, ready…will…you’ll…be there, right?”

“Eh?” Murdoc doesn’t admit to being caught off guard but the way he fumbles the beer can says enough, “Uh, y-yeah, yeah, ‘course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Can—can Rus be there too? Jus’ in case somefin’ happens?”

“Nothin’s gonna happen, 2D, what’d I tell ya’ ‘bout bringin’ down the mood?” Murdoc slings an arm around the singer’s shoulders, leaning in close enough to let his tongue slide along the shell of 2D’s ear, “This is between you n’ me. An’ no one else needs to stick their nose in my business.” 2D shudders and Murdoc chuckles, breath hot on the singer’s neck, “How ‘bout you jus’ relax and let me take the reigns fer a while, yeah? Have a drink, Faceache, unwind.” And he jiggles the half empty beer can in front of those dark eyes.

2D blinks and then looks mortified, “Oi! I can’t drink! ’S bad for the babies!”

“What—oh sweet Satan—for _fucks sake_ , 2D, THEY’RE DUDS!”

“I ain’t riskin’ it!”

“AAAAAAHHHGGGG!”


End file.
